


Words Unsaid

by alSaqr



Category: The Lovecraft Investigations
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alSaqr/pseuds/alSaqr
Summary: A missing scene from the beginning of episode 5 of “Shadow Over Innsmouth”. Kennedy Fisher muses on words unsaid, and missing friends.
Relationships: Kennedy Fisher/Matthew Heawood
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	Words Unsaid

The coffee was good. The croissants were a disaster.

Casey, it turned out - while the sort of man who had no get up and go until he’d had at least one cup of coffee - had no experience in the kitchen. Kennedy Fisher herself wasn’t a bad cook; and Casey had given up trying to convince her that she wasn’t allowed in the kitchen (for health and safety reasons). She also suspected he was a little bit intimidated by her. But nothing that she’d tried to cook before had prepared her for the fact that when you microwaved a croissant, it turned to charcoal within a matter of seconds. And very nearly set off the fire alarm.

They managed to salvage one or two of them, and sat down to eat and talk. It felt good, she decided, to talk to someone else in Innsmouth who wasn’t a local and who wasn’t a little unnervingly obsessed with the podcast. Not that there was anything wrong with Alice, but she was a little… clingy. And Zadok was either completely insane, or high as a fucking kite. So Casey it was.

They made small talk, peeling open little single-use packets of butter and jam and marmalade, and tearing off pieces of pastry that were still burned. At least for the first half of their coffee and croissant breakfast, things were normal; as normal as they _could_ be when you couldn’t see out the windows and were stuck in a weird fishing town with an esoteric church and no dead bodies.

But when the conversation turned to Dagon and the ‘Deep Ones’, she lost her appetite immediately. Casey, at least, seemed _normal._ But everything else activated an immediate fight or flight instinct that made her want to try her luck with the fog after all, and walk all the way back to Newburyport. Snatch Alice, and drag her kicking and screaming along with her, if she had to. The weird stuff with the reef and the sacrifices made her uncomfortable enough without the links to the Charles Dexter Ward case.

Casey left her to go check the phones, and she sighed and rested her forehead on the table. _Fuck this. Fuck all of this._

She wished she could get hold of Matthew. Not just to tell him what was going on, but for comfort. Reassurance. A familiar voice. Through all of the crazy shit - even through the implication that she might have _killed_ someone - he had stuck by her. Kind, reliable Matt who she knew had held a torch for her for almost as long as they had known each other.

Not for the first time, she glanced at her phone, tapping the screen over and over with one nail as she _willed_ it to have at least one bar. But there was still no signal, and it wasn’t even showing her network. Was he trying to reach her? Was he still in Iraq? Was he okay? She had no way to know and that scared her, too.

Stirring her coffee absentmindedly, her thoughts began to drift not to the weird Innsmouth bullshit but to words unsaid. _I should have told him. Should have said something before she split._ It felt like it was too late now, and she didn’t like the feeling one bit. Sipping the coffee, she tried to figure out what she _might_ have said. ‘I like you, too’ wasn’t enough, too… flat. ‘I love you’ wasn’t something that she felt able to say to anybody, in the state of mind she’d been in for the last year. There had to be something in between those things, and that sweet spot was how she felt about Matt - and God, but if she lost Matt, she didn’t know how she would cope - but how to find the _words_.

It was fucking ironic, really. An investigator for a podcast who couldn’t find the words to tell their best friend how much they cared. Kennedy unlocked her phone again, browsing to her text messages and looking over the last one she’d gotten from Matt.

“Goodnight Kennedy,” she read aloud, smiling weakly to herself. “Talk to you tomorrow. X O.”

She’d nodded off before remembering to reply, and she wished she had. Replied, that was. Locking the phone with an echoing click she picked at the last of a croissant and sighed deeply.

 _You’re talking like you’re not getting out of this alive,_ she chastised herself, sternly. _Once the bus is running again, you’re getting out of here._ But she wasn’t sure, not anymore. And she longed, more than anything else, for Matthew to call her and tell her that he was alright, and he’d found her a ride out of town. That he was waiting for her in London and this whole story was nothing more than a wild misunderstanding. But she knew it wasn’t, and she knew he wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway.

 _Next time I see Matthew Heawood,_ she decided, there and then, _I’m going to kiss him_ . Square on the lips. And if he didn’t stop her then she was going to kiss him again, and then maybe kiss him in the direction of a bed, and then stay in it for a week and order out. No cults. No death. No witches. No monsters. Just her, and Matt, for at _least_ a week, so they could both get out of their systems a hundred things unsaid, before it was too late.

“I need you,” she whispered, pocketing her mobile and resting her head on the table once again, gripping the half-finished mug in both hands like a shield in front of her. _I need you right now, Matt._ And maybe if she wished hard enough, it would summon him to her.

Or maybe this was the real world, and it didn’t work like that. Whatever. A girl could wish...

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Seriously. Be careful microwaving pastries. They’ll look fine on the outside, and they’ll be soot in the middle. Source: personal experience.


End file.
